Shifting Perceptions xx Going Grey 3
by Kiristeen
Summary: 6th year. Harry must apologize to Snape and resume occlumency lessons. Draco struggles to come to terms with the Malfoy family curse and the curves it's thrown his way.  Of course, nothing goes quite to plan. no pairing. #3 in Going Grey series.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

AN: **3rd in the "Going Grey"** series, this story follows immediately after "Destiny's Control". If you haven't read the first two stories, this one won't make a lot of sense. : )  
"Shifting Perceptions" will have 5 chapters instead of 4.  
Pairings: None in this episode  
Rating: Mature for mild violence

Thank you Miyugi, RRW, & Lanfear1 for your heartening reviews of the last chapter of "Destiny's Control. I truly appreciated them. : )

xxxxxxxxxx  
**Shifting Perceptions  
Chapter One**  
xxxxxxxxxx

Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express, more than ready to begin the new year. This summer had been an experience he would truly like to forget. He'd handled his 16th birthday bringing with it frustrating magical outbursts rather well - if he was asked. He'd even managed to come to terms with the curse his father had told him about. After all, his father had survived it quite well, so, he saw no reason why he wouldn't.

What he had _not_ handled at all well was meeting the dark lord for the first time.

Draco shifted restlessly as he eyed himself in the full length mirror adorning the wall in his bedroom. He had to make sure he was immaculately dressed for this occasion. He had absolutely no intentions of embarrassing his father when he met with the dark lord for the first time - and certainly not by something so simple as his manner of dress! He knew - from his father's own words - that the Malfoys were slightly out of favor with the dark lord due to the disaster at the ministry which had temporarily landed his father in Azkaban. Draco had to make sure nothing _he_ did reflected badly on his father and made the entire situation worse. That was the last thing either of them needed.

He nodded sharply, satisfied that he looked every inch the pureblooded aristocratic scion. Turning away from the mirror, he strode across the room and out into the hall, not bothering to pick up the bits and pieces of several outfits he'd discarded in his attempt to find the perfect ensemble. The house elves would take care of that while he was out of the room. They always did.

His father met him at the base of the stairs.

"Ready, Draco?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," Draco replied, nodding.

With that, his father swept away, heading directly toward the apparation room.

Draco followed silently in his wake. He had long ago learned not to bother pestering his father with questions. The man only answered them when he was in the mood to explain things. Somehow, he doubted that on the way to be introduced to the dark lord was one of those times. As high a regard as his father held the wizard in, Draco knew he feared the man just as much. And from what Draco had seen of his father the few times he'd caught him directly after a bad meeting, he couldn't say as how he blamed his father for that.

Disappointing the dark lord was something to be avoided at all costs. His father's experiences had taught him that and he had absolutely no intentions of finding out what the experience was like first hand. He would be the ablest assistant the powerful wizard had, hopefully raising himself above such petty concerns as punishment.

Ten minutes later, his father pulled him into side-along apparation and the two of them appeared before a decrepit house, surrounded by ill-kept grounds. He sneered before he could stop himself, clearing his expression the moment he realized what he was doing. Sneering at the dark lord's chosen residence - or possibly headquarters - was simply not done. He knew that, and certainly had no desire to be seen doing it.

Inside, however, he couldn't stop. If the man was so all-bloody-powerful, then why was he living/working in a place like this? He wanted to ask, but didn't dare. Thankfully, his father inadvertantly answered his unasked question.

"Riddle Manor, the dark lord's family residence," he offered quietly, the faintest of sneers sounding in his words.

_So, Father isn't impressed either,_ Draco noted mentally, then scoffed. _Of course, he isn't,_ he continued, silently berating himself. _Who would be?_ He rather suspected that the Weasley hovel would be pleasant in comparison. Frowning, he tried to place the family name, but couldn't. _Riddle?_ He couldn't recall any wizarding family by that name, and he had to wonder why. His father had certainly drilled him often enough in the who's who of wizarding society. Why hadn't the dark lord's family been included? It was another question best left to another time, but it did make him . . . uneasy.

He kept his mouth shut, following behind his masked father, his own face completely bare. One did not wear the mask of a deatheater until marked. Doing so before hand was, apparently, beyond bad manners and the dark lord responded badly.

His father had shuddered slightly as he'd said it, and Draco knew he didn't want to find out what, exactly, 'the dark lord responding badly' entailed.

Ignoring his distasteful surroundings, he centered his attention on his father as they strode past the guards standing just inside the door of the home. He froze, however, as he stepped inside a large, reasonably clean room and caught his first look at the dark lord. Only a hand gripping his arm - his father's, he presumed - got him moving again. He had heard the stories, of course, but hadn't really expected the wizard to look so . . . reptilian; so completely inhuman.

The low grade nervousness that had been with him for several hours now, jumped up several levels, and it was only a strong sense of self preservation - and a desire not to disappoint his father - that kept him from trying to bolt from the room. The man was _terrifying_ to see and Draco's legs felt like he had been hit with the jelly legs jinx.

Draco shook himself from his thoughts as he found an empty compartment and dropped down onto one of the bench seats. He sighed softly, cherishing the time alone, well aware that he would not remain so for long. Invariably, Crabbe and Goyle would find him, as would Pansy. Other Slytherins would drift in and out of the compartment throughout the train ride, but those three generally stuck close to him the entire trip. Well, Pansy didn't usually accompany them on the traditional trip to Potter's compartment, but beyond that. . . .

In the quiet, his thoughts invariably returned to his problem at hand; the dark lord. On one level, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with the monster. Everything he'd been taught told him it was suicidal. On another level, the one he suspected was controlled by the curse, he felt powerful inducement to do whatever it took to keep the wizard pleased with him. Frankly, he hoped he would stumble across the way to break the curse quickly - preferably before he was marked. He highly suspected that serving the wizard in any capacity was going to be terrible, not to mention dangerous. It certainly hadn't taken much to convince him that _no one_ was above 'such petty concerns as punishment'. The meeting he'd witnessed had proven that. It had been a very horrifying - and eye-opening - experience that he had absolutely no wish to repeat. He just didn't see any way around it, because his father had been right. The man was powerful, very powerful. He virtually radiated the stuff off in waves - and that didn't even take into account the other sorts of power the wizard wielded, such as his control over many of the pure-blooded elite, and politically powerful wizards.

Trying to distract himself, he focused his attention elsewhere, absently noting the time as he stared out the window. A quarter to ten. That was about the time that his two bodyguards usually showed up.

And right on cue, both Crabbe and Goyle lumbered in and took seats across from him. Unspoken was the tradition that Pansy would sit beside him - though, Draco couldn't be arsed to care either way. They both nodded to him.

"Didn't see Weasley or Potter on our way here," Crabbe said.

Draco snorted. _Of course not,_ he thought instantly. _That lot never gets here until the train is practically pulling out._ Which was why he wasn't already on the look out for them. It was generally best to wait until the train had been moving for ten to fifteen minutes before he went to taunt the pathetic Gryffindors.

"The mudblood is already one the train, three carriages up from here."

Draco nodded, briefly considering going and taunting the mudblood early, but ultimately decided it was too much effort. It was so much more fun doing it in front of the Weasel. He always bristled and turned such funny shades of red. When the Weasel wasn't around, all the mudblood did was sneer right back at him.

Unfortunately, neither that, nor Crabbe and Goyle, held his attention for long and he found his thoughts roaming back to where they'd been stuck off and on since the night of his birthday.

Draco watched as the next deatheater stepped before the dark lord, kneeled and kissed the hem of his robes.

_That_ can't_ be sanitary,_ Draco thought with a purely internal shudder.

"What news do you bring me?" the dark lord demanded.

"Potter was at Hogwarts briefly," the man said quietly. "And then Dumbledore hid him away at Order Headquarters."

"And just _where_ is that?"

"I do not know, My Lord. Their headquarters' location is still protected by the fidelus."

"And _who_ is the secret keeper?"

"I do not know, My Lord," the deatheater replied, visibly wincing as he did so. "I suspect it is Headmaster Dumbledore."

"You do not know," the dark lord echoed, his voice flat. "Crucio!"

Draco gasped, staring in horrified fascination as the man writhed under the pain curse for nearly a minute before the dark lord released the spell.

"Find out!" the dark lord snapped.

The deatheater backed away, fading into his place in the circle.

In growing horror, Draco watched as deatheater after deatheater reported to the wizard. Every report that did not meet with the dark lord's approval was met with pain. When his own father stepped forward, he was tempted to close his eyes and clamp his hands over his ears, not wanting to hear the same thing happen to his own flesh and blood.

He didn't, attempting an outward appearance of calm acceptance. He didn't know how successful he was, but at least he wasn't cringing away.

"Draco!"

Draco startled out of his thoughts, to find Pansy sitting next to him looking worried.

"What?" he snapped, hoping it would make her back off. He, in absolutely no way, wanted to talk about what was 'wrong' with him right now.

"Are you alright?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm and leaning closer.

"I'm fine," he retorted firmly, then turned to Greg and Vincent. "You two ready?"

They nodded, rising in unison.

He nodded once to Pansy. "We'll be back in a few minutes," he said and swept out of the compartment. He had some Gryffindors to make fun of.

x-x-x

As the door shut behind the retreating Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, Harry grinned excitedly, turning immediately toward Hermione.

His exclaimed, "he wasn't important, Hermione!" fell right on top of Ron's angry, "what is wrong with you, Harry?"

Both Harry and Hermione turned an astonished look at Ron. "Nothing's wrong with me," Harry replied carefully. "What in the world makes you think there is?"

"Then why did you let Malfoy get away with that bollocks?"

"Language, Ron!" Hermione snapped.

Harry ignored Hermione's admonishment - Ron did as well, as far as Harry could tell. "What should I have done?" he asked, knowing full well, exactly what Ron had expected; exactly what Harry _would_ have done last year.

"You should have hexed his arse, Harry!"

Part of Harry agreed, actually. The little ferret deserved just about anything they could dish out. "Why?" he asked, instead. Really, he told himself, the little ferret was annoying, but that's all he was; a minor irritation in the 'grand scheme'.

"Because he deserved it!" Ron exclaimed indignantly.

Harry laughed. "Sure, he did," he agreed readily. That wasn't something he cared to dispute.

Hermione shook her head. "That still wouldn't make it right, Ron."

Ron frowned at Hermione, then turned to stare at Harry, incredulous. "What? Are you trying to be a grown up or something, Harry?"

Harry's sudden smile felt like it was big enough to reach his _ears_. It felt amazingly good for _someone_ to figure it out - besides Mione. She was there from nearly the very beginning; she knew what he was doing. "That's exactly what I'm doing," he replied. "Glad you noticed."

Ron gaped at him for almost a full minute. "Why?" he asked incredulously. "There's no fun in being grown up."

"You're telling me?" Harry groused with an amused snort. "It bites, actually."

"Harry," Hermione chastised.

"What?" they both responded, "It does!"

They burst out laughing then, a moment of shared, childish camaradarie bringing them back to the same side. "Well, at least you've not completely defected," Ron told him, grinning, then frowning suddenly. "Does that mean we aren't going to prank Malfoy at all this year?"

Sighing, Harry nodded. "Yes, Ron, that's exactly what it means."

"Even when _he_ starts it?"

"Even then," Harry replied firmly, wanting to say the exact opposite.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, dropping into his seat. "There goes the year."

Things settled down after that and Harry was grateful Ron hadn't been _too_ upset by his refusal to let Malfoy bait him. He could see, though, that Ron was going to have a difficult time with the 'new Harry'; new and 'improved', Harry hoped.

Ron pulled out his transfiguration homework. "Hey, Mione, can you help me with this?" he asked.

"Oh, Ronald!" Hermione said sternly. "Haven't you finished that yet?"

Harry shook his head and turned his attention to the scenery outside the window just as the train began to move. He had a lot to think about, not the least of which was this morning's altercation with Snape. Why couldn't he react to Snape the way he did to Malfoy just now? Malfoy's taunts had rolled off him like they were nothing, like they were completely irrelevant. If he could just do that with Snape, everything would be great. Well, maybe not _everything_, but it would certainly make this year easier to get through.

He couldn't help being a little riled about it, though. All the things he'd felt at the time - kept under lock and key or not - were still there, just . . . muted a bit. Outrage, anger, frustration; he felt all of them, along side the taste of the word hypocrite that he'd so wanted to yell at the man. _Still not thinking through your actions, Potter?_ Maybe Snape should do the same thing once in a while!

Harry's eyes widened as an idea struck him. He knew just what memory to give Snape to see - if he could bring himself to do it. It certainly fit the bill as far as being humiliating. It was pretty much the most humiliating thing he'd ever had to endure. As happenstance would have it, it would also qualify as 'telling' someone about his homelife more directly than 'they don't really like me, Sir.' Thirdly, assuming the man could set aside his prejudices long enough to see the scene for what it really was. As far as Harry could see, it would be obvious to a blind man. To a 'spy', like Snape was supposed to be, it should be _blindingly_ obvious.

Oddly enough, the longer he thought about it, the more appealing it became. Showing it to Snape was better than talking to the headmaster about it all, and frankly, he couldn't even imagine going to Professor McGonagall about something like this. As a bonus, Snape's opinion of him couldn't get any worse, and he really didn't want either the headmaster or McGonagall to think of him as weak, unable to defend himself.

Now, the only thing he had to figure out was when and how to present his apology and the memory - and whether or not he could actually do it. He didn't actually want _anyone_ to see it. Not to mention, he had to figure out just how the hell he was supposed to _ask_ Snape to resume the occlumency lessons.

The rest of the train ride was spent mostly in quiet, allowing Harry his thoughts. It was certainly an unusual occurence, but with Hermione reading, the blessed quiet was only interrupted by Ron's occasional question about his homework - the most that Hermione was willing to do for something that had been, in her opinion, put off for far too long, and also for a short time when the candy trolley came by.

x-x-x

Draco sat in the empty compartment, having chased out his companions. He was numb to everything around him, his mind chasing itself in circles. _How_ could Potter have that bloody much power? That's what he couldn't figure out. The Gryffindor prat was a half-blood, tainted with worthless muggle blood. Everything Draco had been taught, told him that purebloods were better, more powerful; that muggle influence in the wizarding world would destroy magic.

He shook himself out of that line of thought. "To hell with that!" he exclaimed quietly. "My father's going to kill me!" After seeing Potter again after his magical growth, there was no way he was going to be able to follow the dark lord. The dark lord was definitely more experienced, more skilled, but Potter had more raw starting power. Not only that, Potter had great potential for political and social power as well - despite his half-blood status. Quite possibly more than a wizard who had to operate in the shadows, especially if Potter had the right sort of . . . guidance.

The prat was friends with almost all the upper year Gryffindors - adored by some of the younger ones - well-liked by the Hufflepuffs, and even respected by easily a third to half the Ravenclaws. The only house where he was persona nongrata was Slytherin, and if the dark lord was defeated, that would change as swiftly as a cloudy sky produced rain. Slytherins were nothing if not adaptable.

He could already feel the urge to approach Potter, to somehow make amends with the Gyffindor. It was a far stronger draw than the one he'd felt toward the dark lord - which had thankfully abated the moment he'd stepped inside the trio's carriage. He knew it was going to be damn near impossible to get on the good side of those three, but he kept spinning out ideas through his mind, the scenarios ranging from unworkable, to improbable, all the way to outrageously ridiculous. Frankly, he didn't have a single clue what he was going to do, he just knew he had to do something, otherwise this . . . want inside of him was not going to let him be.

With that firmly decided, he relaxed suddenly, his mind latching onto one of the things his father had told him about the curse.

_"We will be able to sense what that wizard will want from us, as well as be able to answer that need, or alternately, know how to supply the person or object that can."_

Obviously, it didn't mean they would always succeed, Draco thought drily, given his father's failure to get hold of whatever it was the dark lord had wanted that night they'd broken into the department of mysteries. It would still, however, be a handy skill. What he worried most about now, was his father's comments about the curse 'changing them'. He really didn't want to be Gryffindor-like in the slightest. He freely admitted that he wasn't the bravest bloke on the block - impulsively, or otherwise. Not that he had liked the idea of changing for the dark lord, either! He didn't even want to imagine what would change about him to be able to do the things that madmad would have wanted from him.

Despite that, he smirked, now knowing that he would figure out how to convince Potter to admit him into his circle. After all, it wasn't like they had to actually be _friends_. He seriously doubted his father held any feelings of friendship toward the dark lord, after all, or the dark lord for him, for that matter.

The main problem he could see arising at this point, was getting the trio to believe whatever it was he came up with. And if he was certain of nothing else about this whole situation, he was certain that he _would_ have to convince all three of them. He highly doubted that Potter would go so far against his friends.

He would figure something out, he was sure, and that left him with needing to figure out what to do about his father. The man would-

Draco's smirk grew as he suddenly realized all it would take would be as simple as surruptitiously arranging for the two to 'accidentally' meet. His father would understand then, and know that he had no choice. He still didn't think the man would like it, however.

"Are you done with your 'alone time' now?" Pansy demanded as she opened the door. "We're tired of being shut out."

Draco sighed, already mourning the loss of quiet, but nodded. "Yes," he replied evenly. "I've sorted out what I needed to sort out."

"Good," Pansy said firmly, slipping into the compartment and sitting herself next to him.

Crabbe and Goyle followed, once again taking the seats opposite.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.

Harry Potter specific vocabulary pet peeves.  
Apparition = a spirit or noncorporeal entity. eg a ghost.  
Apparation = a magical form of nearly instantaneous travel.

Occlumency = a technique to protect the mind from invasion.  
Legilimency = a technique to invade another's mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

AN: Apparently my summary bites the big one. :( According to the stats, chapter one only has 66 hits. and no reviews. I'm seriously depressed. ::sighs:: Ah, well, maybe this chapter will be better received.

Enjoy!

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Two  
xxxxxxxxxx

Harry trudged down from the headmaster's office, sullen and frustrated. It seemed, no matter what he did, or how he acted, nothing changed. He wasn't angry this time, surprisingly enough, just . . . well, depressed, he supposed, feeling more like a pawn than ever. Really, what was the use of acting more mature if nobody noticed and still nobody listened to what he had to say?

He and his friends had been met by Filch as the thestral drawn carriages pulled up to the castle with a message that the headmaster wanted to see Harry in his office. Harry had gone, of course. Not that he'd really had much choice in the matter, but, he'd actually wanted to go. He was proud of his accomplishments since before his birthday, in regard to his temper and magical outbursts and he'd been eager to share his news with the headmaster.

Headmaster Dumbledore had listened politely, smiling at Harry the whole time, then proceded to simply say, _"Well, I imagine your time with Professor Snape should go much more smoothly, in that case."_

Harry gaped at the man, wondering if all the sweets he seemed to eat had finally driven him into sugar induced insanity. "But, that's what I was trying to say, Sir. I don't really think it's necessary any more. I'm improving all the time now."

"Yes, yes, Harry," the headmaster had replied easily, waving off his words with a negligent hand. "You certainly are, and that's a good thing. However, it _is_ necessary, and you will attend the sessions with him. I'm giving you nearly a week to settle in, so your first appointment will be next monday at 7pm. You will use the opportunity to learn how to interact with him in an . . . appropriate manner."

_**Appropriate manner**?_ he thought incredulously. _What about Snape?_

"Yes, Sir," he replied shortly, knowing nothing he could say would change the situation at all. He could only hope the 'sessions' didn't continue for too long. Unfortunately, they probably would, if Snape was the one reporting the progress to the headmaster.

"The sorting should begin shortly, Harry," the headmaster said softly. "You should go ahead and join your friends."

Harry rose without replying, starting immediately for the staircase. As far as he was concerned, the sooner he was out of there the better. This meeting had done nothing to help him control his growing resentment of the headmaster and he wanted to be gone before his newfound control broke.

Just as he reached the door, he stopped and looked over his shoulder. "And if he doesn't learn that as well?" he asked, trying to keep his tone polite, but knew he hadn't been entirely successful when the headmaster frowned at him.

"It'll be fine, Harry," he replied, reassuring Harry not the least little bit, "you'll see."

Harry barely refrained from snorting as he continued out of the office of doom.

x-x-x

"Ah, Harry, my boy," Albus whispered quietly, shaking his head at the empty doorway through which the boy had disappeared, anger written in every line of his walk, "if it were only you who had to learn, I would release you. But, Severus too, needs to learn to move on, to see what is there, and not what his past demands that he see."

Albus truly regretted that these lessons would take place at Harry's expense, a boy who already had too much on his plate, but through it all, held out hope that through them, Severus would see fit to resume the so badly needed occlumency lessons. He knew Harry had been studying on his own this summer, and had very obviously made great strides in control, both mental and magical, but he could not trust such a vital necessity to the hands and mind of a sixteen year old boy, no matter how talented or special.

Especially since he couldn't shake the feeling that something truly horrific would happen to one, or both, of them if the two didn't mend fences at least a little. A growing worry, deep inside, told him they desperately needed to learn to trust one another.

Shaking his head and putting the insistent thought to the back of his mind, Albus rose slowly. He had a sorting and an opening feast to attend. The new school year waited for no wizard, no matter how pressing his concerns may be.

x-x-x

Draco frowned as he stared out across the Great Hall. Potter hadn't arrived yet, and he was left with only the other Gryffindors to assess. At first glance, it was obvious that Potter wasn't the only one who'd changed over the summer. Longbottom barely looked like himself. Now, a far cry from the pudgy Gryffindor of the previous years, he was nearly completely transformed. Something had happened to him, that was for certain. Just what, however, he would have to wait to find out. It wasn't like he could stroll across the great hall and _ask_.

As the Gryffindors laughed and goofed around, Potter finally slipped into the Great Hall. As Draco watched all of them greet him with smiles and hearty backslaps, Draco's mood dropped like a bezoar made of lead, a sudden realization hitting him solidly in the gut. They were never going to believe him. No matter how sincere or polite he was, they would never believe in his so-called about face. They would assume it was a trap, or a trick of some sort, probably designed to get them in trouble.

It was then it hit him with all the force of a lightening bolt _exactly_ what he could do that they wouldn't disbelieve, couldn't actually. Dismay washed through him at the thought, however, not wanting anything to do with the idea. It was utterly repugnant to him, the complete antithesis to everything in him that demanded he keep secrets. Unfortunately, it made emminent sense to the cunning side of him. He huffed in irritation and began plotting how he was going to get hold of what he needed to pull this off, including getting Potter to agree to meet with him privately, well, semi-privately, since he doubted the Gryffindor would meet him completely alone - too much history there. The Weasel, at least, would end up joining him.

x-x-x

Wondering if there was even a remote chance he was going to get through this year unscathed, Harry continued to slowly make his way toward the Great Hall. The sorting feast hadn't even started yet, and already the year was off to such a _wonderful_ start!

Trying to shake himself out of his funk, Harry picked up speed. If he wasn't careful, the headmaster would get there before he did, and something petty inside Harry didn't want that to happen. He didn't want the headmaster to know just how upset he was at him. For now, he would keep it to himself. He had promished himself that he would give the headmaster another chance this year, but Harry was already getting tired of what seemed to him to be games; games with people as the pawns. He certainly wasn't delusional enough to think he was the only one.

He snuck into the Great Hall and slipped into his seat to greetings from his friends and most of the Gryffindors. He hadn't been seated for more than a few seconds when Dumbledore slid into his own seat. He purposely didn't look toward the man, but his eyes widened when his gaze fell on Neville. The other Gryffindor had dropped a good stone - or more.

"Wow, Neville!" he exclaimed, grinning. "You've lost weight!"

Neville grinned back at him, nodding enthusiastically. "Yeah, started a new exercise regimen this summer," he replied. "A friend of the family is helping me."

Harry laughed at that. "You too, huh?"

Laughing back, Neville nodded. "Yeah. Gran thought I was completely nutters at first," he admitted. "Then, it started working. It's even helped with my clumsiness. Martial arts is really all about balance."

"Do you run at all?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. I'm up to a mile at a time."

"You want to run in the mornings with Hermione and me?" Harry asked. "We're going to make it a regular thing."

"Sure, Harry!" Neville exclaimed, his smile widening. "It's got to be better than doing it alone."

"Agreed," Hermione nodded. "It's kind of boring, alone."

"Mind numbing, even," Harry agreed.

Ron was looking between the three of them like they were completely nutters. "Running?" he asked, looking perplexed. "In the mornings?"

"Yes, Ron," Harry replied, smirking at his friend. "You want to join us? There's room for more."

"Before breakfast?" Ron asked, sounding scandalized.

"Well, yes. There isn't exactly time _after_ breakfast, Ron," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes.

Ron rolled his own in response. "No, thanks!" he retorted.

Everyone around them laughed. They _all_ knew Ron in the mornings. His being difficult to wake up at the best of times was near legendary within the walls of Gryffindor tower. The odds of getting him up early at all were slim, getting him up early _just_ to go running, jumped the odds from slim to none. Just about the only thing that might have a chance would be quidditch, and even that took effort.

The doors of the Great Hall opened and Professor McGonagall appeared with the new first years trailing behind her, interrupting further conversation. The sorting ceremony had begun.

Ignoring it, for the most part, clapping absently when those around him did, Harry let himself drift back into the world of private thought.

He'd already chosen which memory, loathe though he was to share it at all. Now, he simply had to decide what he was going to say, how he was going to say it, and _when_ it was all going to happen. The only thing he was sure about regarding the when, was that he wanted to do it _before_ he was forced to be there. Doing it Monday night, at or just before their first 'session', smacked too much of being pulled by the ear over to the other kid and being forced to apologize, and he was dead certain that Snape would in no way miss the parallel. If Harry saw it, no slytherin worthy of the house could possibly miss it. They lived for this kind of sh- stuff.

Sunday, of course, wasn't a much better time, since it simply reeked of wanting to get it done before he _had_ to face the man. While that was certainly true, it wasn't _why_ he was apologizing, so he wanted to avoid the comparison if it all possible; though, he knew damn well that if his apology could be twisted by Snape, it would be. Consequently, he was determined to make it as twist free as possible.

_So,_ Harry told himself firmly - ordered more like, _the sooner the better._

Tonight was pretty much out of the question, unfortunately, because all of the house heads met with their houses the first night of school. It was common knowledge. That meant tomorrow afternoon was the best time. That, in turn, meant that he had less than 24 hours to figure out just what he could possibly say that might actually get the man to _listen_ to him for a change.

"Harry!"

Jerked out of his thoughts, Harry whipped his head to the side, glaring at his friend before he caught himself. "Sorry," he offered. "What's up?"

"We've been trying to get your attention for some time now," Hermione told him, looking a little worried.

He shook his head, apologizing again. "I was just trying to figure out exactly how I'm going to apologize to S- Professor Snape." Harry snorted, smirking. "Somehow, I don't think he'll listen to a simple 'I'm sorry'."

Quiet snickering sounded around him at that, as well as several nods of agreement.

Harry ignored the questions about why he needed to apologize.

After that, conversation drifted, inevitably to this year's quidditch team and what their chances were to take the quidditch cup. Of course, given their track record, confidence was high. Pretty much the only team they usually had difficulty against was Slytherin, which helped considerably.

"Every year is different," Hermione scolded, interrupting the flow of the conversation. "You shouldn't get overconfident, or you may end up surprised."

The entire current quidditch team stared at her for several seconds, making her shift uncomfortably, before most of them laughed.

Harry, however, nodded. "She's right. We'll still have to be on our toes. Anything could happen. Am I even going to be able to play this year, or is Ginny going to remain as seeker?"

x-x-x

Harry blinked the sleep out of his eyes - or rather, he _tried_ to - as he blearily dressed in the predawn darkness. From across the room, Neville grinned at him, seeming every bit awake as he would have been at noon. Frowning, Harry silently cursed all morning people and stumbled after his friend as they made their way to the common room. By the time he was down on the floor, beginning his prerun stretching, he had firmly decided that 5am came way too early after an 11pm bedtime. He'd had good intentions, heading up to the dorm, despite Ron's protests, at nine.

Unfortunately, everyone _else_ had decided that the first night back was the night for chatting - of course, why he thought that might change after five years, he had no clue. He also had no idea what time Neville made it to sleep, but the last time Harry had looked at a clock, it had been 11. Tonight, if he had to, he'd cast a bloody silencing charm around his bed in order to get to sleep at a decent hour.

He snorted. After lack of sleep last night, running, plus a full day ahead, he seriously doubted he'd even need it. He'd probably be out almost before his head hit the pillow. He certainly hoped so.

"Hello, Harry, Neville," Hermione chirped as she joined them.

_Great!_ Harry thought sourly. _Another morning person._ Of course, that wasn't something he hadn't already known. This just really drove the point home.

"Hey, Hermione," Neville replied, smiling.

Harry just grunted at her by way of greeting, not yet anywhere near awake.

"Stay up too late last night, Harry?" Hermione asked, smirking as she began her own stretching.

Harry nearly growled at her, restraining himself barely. "It seems last night was home boys' day," he replied sourly. "I finally fell asleep some time before they quit gabbing."

"Haven't you learned to cast a silencing charm yet?" she asked, a patently false innocent expression plastered on her face.

Harry did growl at her then.

She just laughed.

x-x-x

The three runners wearily climbed the seven floors to Gryffindor, practically falling through the portrait the moment the fat lady opened for them.

"Okay," Neville panted. "The running . . . is fine. I can handle . . that. It's the stair . . . climbing at the end . . . of it all that's the . . . real killer."

Harry and Hermione just nodded their agreement, neither wanting to waste breath trying to reply verbally.

It took several minutes before any of them were ready to move, but eventually, they split apart, and all three headed straight for showers. They had just enough time to take one before they had to head down to breakfast.

Reaching the bathroom, Harry quickly stripped and climbed under the soothing spray. As he did so, he mused silently. The three of them were actually fairly evenly matched, contrary to Neville's claim to only be up to a mile. They'd run about three as close as Harry could figure, which was a good run as far as he was concerned - especially this early in the morning. He wasn't used to doing it this early. Mornings were when he usually did his strengthening exercises. He supposed that while he was at school, he'd have to switch that around. Before breakfast really was the best to time run, especially if they wanted to avoid the other students while doing so - and he really did. He didn't fancy running while enduring the other students' stares.

"Hurry up, Harry," Neville called out as he left, startling Harry out of his thoughts. "We don't want to miss breakfast."

Rolling his eyes, he quickly got out and dried off. By the time he was back in the dorm and dressed, even Ron was finally waking up. "Meet you in the Great Hall, Ron," he called out as he shot out the door.

He made it to the Great Hall in nearly record time and slipped into his seat. He immediately began filling up his plate, Hermione and Neville, both, already eating. Hermione, of course, had her head stuck in a book - potions this time, he noted absently. Something else had most of his attention - besides the food. Neville had said something last night that had stuck in Harry's mind.

"Neville?" he asked.

"Yeah, Harry?" Neville replied after swallowing.

"Are you going to continue working with your martial arts training here at school?"

"I probably will. Why?"

"If you do, could you teach me?"

Neville blinked at him in obvious shock for several seconds before responding, a wide grin transforming his expression. "Sure, Harry!" he exclaimed excitedly. "Though, I don't know how much I can teach you. I've just started learning it myself."

"That's okay. I don't know anything about it at all, yet."

"Truer words were never spoken," Malfoy taunted as he walked past, not even bothering to stop.

Harry just rolled his eyes, ignoring the prat. It hadn't even been the ferret's best insult. It was like he was off his game or something.

Ron ran into the room, then, crashing into his seat on the bench. "Why didn't you guys wait for me?" he asked, already piling his plate full.

"I was _hungry_, Ron," Harry replied, grinning. "I worked up an apetite this morning."

Ron snorted and shook his head. "I don't see how you can bloody run _before_ you're awake, mate. All I got to say is, better you than me!"

The four shared a companionable breakfast as the rest of the school continued to trickle into the room in groups of two and three. They all finished up about the time the term's schedules were handed out - a testiment to the speed with which Ron ate. This year, unlike previous years, they all had slightly different schedules. Harry, himself, was only taking five classes - and hadn't _that_ been a fight!

He'd received his owl scores about a month after he'd moved into Grimauld Place and had sent back his class acceptance list almost immediately. Unfortunately, it had taken less than a day for him to receive an owl back from Professor McGonagall letting him know that she would be stopping by later that evening to speak with him.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall began the moment they were both seated, "May I inquire as to why you are only taking four classes this year?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm learning other things outside of class as well, Professor, and I need time for those things. These four classes are the ones I feel I need the most."

McGonagall frowned then, her lips pursed tightly together. "While, I agree that Transfiguations, Charms, Potions, and DADA are great core choices, you really should choose two others to round out your schedule. With only four, you're going to have a lot of free time. Perhaps entry level runes and arithmancy would do?"

Harry shook his head. "Not as much free time as you'd think, Professer," he replied evenly, completely ignoring her two suggestions. "I'm going to be running before breakfast, have classes and homework during the day, physical conditioning after classes. I'm being forced into anger management once a week, plus I'm hoping to talk Professor Snape into resuming the Occlumency lessons a couple of evenings a week. I'm not sure, but we may be continuing the DA. That last really depends on the new DADA professor, of course."

"I'm afraid that I must insist, Mr. Potter. Your extra curricular activities can be curtailed if need be. You shouldn't cut back on your schooling for them. It must come first."

_Even before getting good enough to defeat Voldemort?_ Harry wondered sourly, picturing her reaction should he actually bring that up. _Don't any of these so-called adults actually **talk** to each other?_ Frankly, everything he'd ever been told before now, told him the exact opposite of what his head of house was now telling him. Unfortunately, it seemed she had final authority on his classes.

By the time the professor had left, Harry had reluctantly agreed to take entry level runes, but _not_ arithmancy. If nothing else, he'd be able to get an owl in Runes - if he worked hard enough - taking that test at the same time as he took his NEWTS next year. He still wasn't sure if he'd take it beyond first year, however. He supposed it really depended on how he was doing in it, and how much he liked it. Five classes did still leave him with a couple of free periods for studying and homework on most days, leaving his evenings and weekends mostly free for his other activities.

Comparing schedules, it looked like they had transfigurations, charms, and DADA together, and he and Hermione had potions together. He had runes by himself, since Hermione was in her fourth year of that and Ron wasn't taking it at all. Ron had care of magical creatures and divination again, both of which he was taking alone. Hermione had three classes more than he did, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know what they were. Just thinking about taking eight classes - _without_ everything else - was enough to make his head ache.

"How come you've only got five classes, Harry?" Ron exclaimed, snatching the schedule out of his hands. "Wait a minute!" he protested. "You mean, I'm taking divination without you?"

"Ron!" Hermione admonished.

Ron shrugged off her scolding. "I've got six classes and Hermione's got eight. How'd you get away with only five?"

"Actually, I tried for four, but Professor McGonagall convince me to take runes," he replied. He conveniently left out the fact that his taking runes had been a compromise on both their parts.

"Come on, you two," Hermione said, gathering her things and standing. "We've got transfiguration in ten minutes.

Harry and Ron rose hastily, stuffing one last piece of bacon in their mouths as they did so, then running to catch up with her.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Three  
xxxxxxxxxx

He'd only had three classes today, Tranfiguration, double Charms, and Runes, but already he was feeling wiped out. Obviously, not enough sleep last night was taking its toll. He darted up the stairs anyway, hurrying toward the dorms. He still needed to get Snape's 'apology' ready, not having transfered the memory into the vial yet; though, he _had_ gone over what he was going to say, and gone over what he was going to say, and-

He cut off his repeating thoughts as he dropped next to his trunk. Carefully pulling out the new vial, Harry opened it and set it on the bedside table. Then, concentrating on the memory he wanted to retrieve, he shuddered as he put his wand to his temple like Dumbledore had shown him last year. It was a struggle to push aside what had followed the memory he was trying to extract; that being as . . . unpleasant - in a completely different way - as the memory he was choosing to share. He shuddered as he pulled his wand from his temple. It felt extremely odd as the white memory strand followed after.

Directing it into the waiting vial, Harry quickly stoppered it, sealing the vile thing inside. While he freely admitted to himself that the oddness was probably directly related to how he felt about that particular memory, the thing almost felt like it had a life of its own. Having the memory contained outside his head, oddly, made him feel a little better about it. Of course, it probably didn't hurt that the memory felt very . . . muted inside him now, as if it was something he'd heard about, rather than experienced.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was almost to Professor Snape's office. He had finished his official 'rant time', repeated his appropriate-to-the-moment mantra - 'I will not get angry at Professor Snape' - several times, and was moving on to his on-the-go meditation to put everything into prospective. As he arrived in front of the office door, he felt calm and in control. How long that was going to last was anyone's guess, he certainly wasn't sure about it, but if it - combined with his 'new outlook' - wasn't enough, there was always the new biofeedback technique. He'd gotten pretty good with the visualizations required by it.

He knocked, firmly reminding himself of his new promise. _No matter how mad he makes me, keep the 'calming tricks' going!_

"Come in!" Professor Snape barked out.

Harry jumped, but did as ordered, shutting the door quietly behind him. It was obvious the moment the professor realized just who had stopped by; the man's expression instantly soured and he glared.

"What do you want, Potter?" he snapped, not bothering to get up from behind his desk and returning his attention to the papers on his desktop.

Harry took a deep breath, striding forward before beginning. He placed the memory vial on the corner of the professor's desk. "I wanted to come and apologize for invading your privacy near the end of last year," he offered quietly, not mentioning the memory vial yet. He couldn't help but notice, however, that it had at least half of the professor's attention.

"My reasoning was wrong, and _I_ was wrong. I'm sorry."

"Save your breath, Potter!" Professor Snape snarled. "Your tricks are beyond transparent. I have absolutely no desire to listen to, nor waste my time with, someone who refuses to learn! Get out!"

"Please, Sir," Harry tried again, trying to remain calm; though, it seemed something of a losing battle. The man wasn't even willing to _listen_! "I'm being sincere."

Snape rolled his eyes, his sneer becoming even more pronounced. "_Sincere_ or not, doesn't matter. It's so like a Gryffindor to believe _words_ are enough to make any difference at all."

"You're right, Sir," Harry admitted. "Words aren't enough," he continued, pointing to the swirling bluish vial on the corner of the desk. "A memory for a memory."

Snape surged up and around the corner of his desk until he loomed over Harry, invading his personal space. "Arrogant little brat!" he snapped. "Just like your father, thinking that any old memory you _choose_ to hand me - no matter how trivial - could compare to what you _stole_!"

Harry felt his temper instantly surge upward and he knew he was losing control of it. What was it about being compared to his father that he just couldn't let slide by him? Even at the Dursley's, insults against his parents had always been guaranteed to set him off. He quickly stepped back and closed his eyes. Taking in a quick, deep breath, and blowing it back out slowly, he carefully began visualizing his anger as a nearly living, breathing thing.

He could still hear Snape ranting at him, but didn't let it distract him - the dorms were a good place to practice not getting distracted. He had to regain control, or everything he'd told the headmaster was less than useless. His anger, he saw as this fiery red stream of heat that writhed and flowed inside his head. He directed it, sending thin, molten streams of it down the veins of his neck, out over his shoulders, and down through his arms and hands. He continued to watch and direct as he visualized it leaking out his fingertips.

It was working! The more he watched the red fluid drip from his fingers, the less he felt his anger. It was time consuming, and certainly wouldn't work in a duel situation, but it would work for now.

"Just _what_ do you think you are doing, Mr. Potter!" Snape snapped, once again right next to him.

"What?" Harry exclaimed, snapping his eyes open and frowning in confusion. He knew none of his anger was showing, because he didn't feel it any more. It had all been carried away by the lava-like stream. "I'm," he shrugged, "getting rid of my anger."

"How?" Snape snapped, sneering again," by allowing accidental magic to flare from your hands? That's not controlling it, idiot! That's letting it get away from you."

Harry snapped his hands up, staring at them incredulously. "Um, excuse me, Sir, but _what_?"

"Just what I said, Potter! You were emoting visible magic from your fingers!"

_Emoting? Who said 'emoting' anymore?_

Harry felt his eyes widen in awe, even as the completely irrelevant thought flew through his mind. "Wow! I've never purposely done that before," he murmured, still staring at his hands. "At least, I don't think I have."

"_Accidental_ magic," Snape spat angrily, "is by its very nature not done purposely, you dunderheaded fool!"

Harry blinked, too intrigued by what Snape had seen to bother getting angry at the insult. "That's just it, Sir, I don't think it was accidental."

Snape frowned at that, and for a split second seemed to actually be confused. "What?" he snarled.

Harry took another hasty step back, quickly explaining what he'd meant. "I didn't actually realize I was doing that, but it was exactly what I was visualizing, Sir."

"Explain fully, quickly," the professor demanded, for once looking a little more interested than condescending. Then he continued. "Before you lose an incredible amount of house points and earn at least a month of detentions."

"I close my eyes and visualize my anger as a pulsing, angry, red . . . blob," he began, describing his technique as best he could. By the time he was finished, the professor was watching him intently, something . . . speculative glinting within his eys. Harry had to admit - at least to himself - that it unsettled him quite a bit. This was not a Snape he was used to seeing and couldn't help but wonder what the wizard was going to do now. He didn't know how to predict _this_ Snape.

"I would _suggest_," Snape very drily offered after several tense moments of silence, "that you not use that . . . technique where anyone you do not want to . . . disconcert can see you."

_Huh?_ Harry though in confusion. "Um, why?" he asked, genuinely curious. Just what had the professor seen?

"From my perspective," the older wizard said slowly, obviously carefully phrasing his words.

_Wow!_ Harry thought. _No sneer._

"It appeared as though molten metal was dripping from your fingertips."

Harry automatically dropped his eyes back to his hands in dismay. _**Another** oddity,_ he though viciously. _I really am a freak,_

"Oh," he replied uneasily, then shrugged, a sheepish half-grin curving one side of his mouth upward. "That, um, must have looked painful."

A sharp, short, bark of laughter erupted out of the professor, startling Harry into stepping back yet again, his mouth falling open in shock.

Snape cleared his throat immediately after, looking oddly uncomfortable all of a sudden. His expression, however, quickly morphed back into the more familiar sneer.

Which, strangely enough, made Harry feel more comfortable, and also made him wonder how much of the professor's condescension was a defensive mask. Harry shook himself out of his fanciful thinking, wondering if maybe he'd imagined it after all. Snape, laughing? It didn't seem likely, not because of something _he_ had said, at any rate.

"At least," he said, carefully testing the tension level between them, "it didn't register as underage magic use if I did it at Grimauld Place."

Snape rolled his eyes, sighing. "Unwanded, perportedly _accidental_ magic is not what the ministry monitors."

A swift, entirely unexpected and nearly overwhelming tide of rage swept through Harry and he instantly dropped back into his anger banishment ritual - freaky as it was, it worked.

"What, preytell, angered you so greatly about _that_, Mr. Potter?" Snape sneered snidely - back at full form - just as Harry managed to let go of most of his anger.

Harry waited another heartbeat, very aware that his anger had not yet fully abated, then carefully phrased his anger filled question. "Please, forgive my tone, Sir," he said softly, "but could you tell me how it is that _my_ accidental magic _is_ being monitored by the ministry then?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape snapped, exasperated. "It isn't!"

"But it _is_, Sir," Harry replied more forcefully, but still careful of his tone. The anger he'd let go was swiftly coming back, and Snape's stubborn refusal to allow that Harry might actually be telling the truth instead of exaggerating - or outright lying - wasn't helping one little bit. He completely ignored Snape's eyeroll, and urgently continued, wanting - for once - to actually convince the man of what he was saying. "The summer before my second year, Dobby used magic at the Dursleys. Because of that, the ministry sent me an owl accusing me of using underage magic."

"Really, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked with an extra serving of dry on the side.

Harry fought against his own eye roll, knowing full well that Snape would not react well to it. "And the summer before my third year, the minister knew that I'd accidently blown up my Aunt Marge."

"You _blew up_ your aunt?" Snape asked incredulously.

Harry nodded. "Yes, like a giant balloon filled with helium," he replied. "She floated right off, nearly took Uncle Vernon with her, in fact, when he tried to keep her down."

Snape blew out an explosive breath and something like relief flooded his eyes, which puzzled Harry for a second.

_Oh!_ He almost laughed as he realized what Snape had thought, then shuddered; little pieces of Aunt Marge all over the dining room!

"Oh! Nasty mental image, Sir," Harry replied in response to Snape's relief, regardless that the man hadn't said word one about what he'd been thinking.

The professor smirked at him. "Perhaps you had so many outbreaks of magic as a child - due, no doubt to temper tantrums-"

_And the sarcasm is back!_ Harry thought dejectedly.

"-the ministry put up extra monitors?"

Harry frowned, taking the idea seriously instead of how it was obviously intended - as an insult. "I don't think so," he replied, not commenting about the temper tantrum remark. That would only get him in trouble. "I can only recall three instances."

Snape really frowned then, staring at him intensely. "Only three?" he asked, disbelief radiating from him. "Even _well-behaved_ children have more than that.

Harry barely prevented the growl - how, he'd never know. "Yes, Sir, only three. Of course, I don't know about when I was really little."

"Describe them," Snape demanded.

Harry quickly described running from the school bullies - neglecting to mention that one of those bullies had been his cousin - and ended up on the school's roof, and about turning his teacher's hair blue. After that, he told the man about Dudley's up close and personal encounter with the snake exhibit just prior to his first year.

"That's all I can recall from before school started, then the two I already told you about, after."

Snape turned away abruptly and stalked back to his desk. "I have no answers for you, Mr. Potter," he sneered. "Perhaps you would be better served asking the headmaster. He would know more about what extra monitors might be within the wards for your protection."

Harry frowned again, not liking the sound of that at all. The headmaster almost never answered his questions with answers he needed. Mostly, he skirted around issues. "I'll do that," was all he said, however.

Sitting, his hands now steepled in front of his face, Snape stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Is that your only way of managing your anger? You weren't doing that at Grimauld the last time I was there."

Harry shook his head. "No, Sir. It's just the most effective so far."

"Use one of your other methods when others are around," Snape ordered. "That last method would be best while alone, or behind the safety of your bed curtains - assuming it won't set fire to them." He frowned then. "Perhaps you should show me these other _methods_ We wouldn't want anything similar to happen, now would we?"

"No, Sir, _we_ wouldn't," Harry retorted.

"Watch the cheek!"

"I can bring you the books I got them from, if you like?" Harry offered, not wanting to lose all the ground he seemed to have gained with the man. If the occlumency lessons had been like this, he might have actually been able to learn something.

"Where did you get them?"

"Hermione found them in a book store in London."

Snape blinked in outright disbelief. "You're using _muggle_ books to help with a _wizarding_ problem?"

Harry reared back. _What?_ "Isn't anger everyone's problem, Sir?" he asked, surprised at the distinction. "Besides, they _have_ actually helped with my occlumency, too."

Snape huffed, the sneer back in full force. "Only you, Potter, would think anything _muggle_ could help with occlumency!"

Harry frowned, indignant. "It has! I can clear my mind now, for a few seconds anyway. Doing so usually puts me to sleep instantly."

"Well, we'll just see about that!" Snape sneered.

_Damn!_ Harry thought, knowing instantly where this was headed. _Calm. Flying._

Snape swept around the corner of his desk, wand up and ready.

_What he thinks doesn't matter. I know I've made progress,_ he told himself, and felt something approaching true peace descend over him - certainly as close as he had ever came to it when he was around Snape.

"Legilimens!"

Even as Snape said the spell, Harry focused intently on the spot between the man's eyes, pushing everything else out of his awareness. For several seconds he felt nothing, then he felt an odd pressure, almost like he had a head cold. It was a far cry from the brutally painful invasions of last year. It morphed into a mild headache, then suddenly he saw himself going into his room, fear surfacing instantly. _Don't panic! Stay calm. Think of something else._

Harry seized hold of a single item in the memory; Hedwig. She was directly in front of him and with everything he had, he pulled up every single memory he could of her, remembering one after the other. He remembered Hagrid getting her for him, talking to her that first day in his cupboard, riding with her on the train. Things he didn't even realize he remembered came forward, faster and faster.

Then, as quickly and as abruptly as it had started, it was over and he was staring at Snape's face again.

Harry blinked, slumping in defeat. He'd failed. He hadn't kept Snape out at all. He hadn't even pushed him out.

Snape was staring at him oddly, though, his expression completely unreadable. "You will bring me those books you spoke of."

"Now, Sir?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "No, Potter, next month. _Yes_ now."

Harry nodded, turned, then turned back. "On one condition, Sir."

Snape's eyes narrowed at him again, this time dangerously so, his lips thinning into a firm slash across his face. He strode across the distance now separating them until he stood barely two feet away.

It took everything Harry had not to back away.

"You want me to resume teaching you - don't even try to deny it - and you try to impose _conditions_?"

Harry nodded shakily. "Only that you not make fun of me for having the books, Sir, and don't tell anyone about them."

"If you want even the remote chance of my teaching you occlumency this year, you will go get those books and you will bring them to me, now," Snape hissed out through clenched teeth.

Harry sighed, knowing when he was defeated. He really did need to learn this. "Yes, Sir," he replied, turned, and all but ran from the room. He just wished he could leave one, in particular, behind; though, two would be even better. Unfortunately, the two he would leave behind had been the most helpful, so he didn't dare.

It didn't take Harry long to get the books from his trunk; though, he'd had to wave off several of his classmates in the process.

He met Neville on the way back out.

"Hey, Harry," he called out. "I was just heading out to work on my katas. Did you want to come?"

Yes, actually, he did. Unfortunately, he couldn't. "I've got to get these books to Snape, Neville, so I can't right now."

"That's okay, Harry. I understand," Neville replied, slumping as he headed for the common room exit.

Harry frowned at his friend's odd reaction. "How often are you going to do them?" he asked, hurrying to catch up.

Neville shrugged. "Three times a week."

"I have no clue how long Snape's going to keep me tonight, but I'd like to join you next time," he offered, hoping that would be okay. He knew just how boring it could be working out alone.

Neville brightened instantly. "Sure, Harry. The beginning katas aren't hard at all," he continued as the two of them passed the portrait, out into the hall. "You should be able to pick them up right away."

Harry hoped so. He'd heard a lot about martial arts over the years - mostly from some of the movies that Dudley like to watch; though, he didn't know how accurate the information was - and one of the things he'd heard, repeatedly, was that some of them really helped with anger control - well, control of all kinds, really. He imagined it would probably even help him with controlling his magic and wished he'd thought of it earlier.

"I'm looking forward to it," he replied with a grin.

With that, the two of them split off, going opposite directions. Harry suspected that Neville was headed for the room of requirement. It would certainly be a great place to work out, and Harry fully planned to use the room for his own workouts this year.

He sighed as he neared the professor's office again. _Once more into the breach,_ he thought fatalistically, not remembering where he'd heard the quote before, but thinking it was very appropriate right then.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.  
**Warning: **There is reference to sexual assault in this chapter. It happened in the past, is not graphically described, and is visited only briefly in memory. It is covered in two sentences and more by implication than anything else.  
**Disclaimer2:** Harry's quotes of Dumbledore come directly from book five pages 835 and 837 (hardcover).

Thank you Jareth'sQueen and Papa Thom for your reviews and encouragement. They were sorely needed. : )

AN: I just discovered that my indents (blockquote) for dreams and flashbacks is being stripped when I post to FFdotnet. :( From now on, dreams and flashbacks will be italicized. Thank you.

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Four  
xxxxxxxxxx

Severus stared at the door, long after Harry Potter disappeared through it. This evening had been . . . interesting, to say the least. When Potter had begun his blasted 'apology', he'd known immediately what it was about. In fact, he highly suspected Albus had pushed him to do it, wanting the two of them to resume Potter's occlumency training. Of course, he'd simply had to slam the boy down hard. A forced apology was worse than no apology at all as far as _he_ was concerned. He'd have far rathered the boy stuck with what he was good at, arrogant disregard - especially given tonight's outcome.

That . . . pyrotechnic display had been . . . impressive and if the boy had been Slytherin, he might have suspected it had been done purposely in order to do just that; impress him. In the end, it had been beyond disturbing, so much so that he catagorically refused to admit to anyone but himself, just how much he'd been unsettled by it. Not even Albus would learn of it. And to discover that it _hadn't_ been emotionally driven, out of control, accidental magic had been awe inspiring, something Severus was _not_ comfortable feeling in regards to that naive, willful brat!

When he'd cast the legillimency spell at Potter, he had fully intended to teach the brat manners, as well as to not claim something he wasn't capable of following through on. He certainly had not expected to find significantly better resistance than he'd found near the end of the previous year. He'd been truly surprised to find several seconds of real blocking performed by Potter, before he managed to wedge his way inside. He'd been even more surprised when Potter had effectively protected a memory he so very obviously hadn't wanted his professor - or perhaps him specifically - to see. Being innundated with memory after memory of that blasted owl had finally driven him out, simply because he hadn't been getting anywhere.

The only real concern about that - as always - was the fact that the boy hadn't even _tried_ to actively push him out. _Why?_ was the big question in his mind. Well, he supposed _how_ rather qualified as well. What could the brat have possibly read over the summer that had made that much difference in the boy's ability? It wasn't outright power level, because if you didn't know what you were doing with it, power didn't do any good at all. In fact, it was a downright hindrance, making spells out of control and dangerous.

Shaking his head, doubting he would figure it out before he saw the books the boy was bringing him, Severus turned and headed back to his desk. He may as well get some more grading done while he waited. Even if Potter was quick, it was a long trek from the dungeons up to Gryffindor tower and back again.

There it was, the blasted memory vial. It sat on his desk, taunting him.

As much as he seriously doubted the boy had any clue what kind of memory would be suitable recompense for stealing into what had to be one of his most pivotally humiliating memories, he had to admit to more than just a little curiosity about what had been chosen. Worrying his lower lip between his teeth, he stared at the stupid, swirling memory within the vial. He snorted, shaking his head again. He doubted the boy even _had_ a memory bad enough - unless of course, he'd chosen the last night of the triwizard tournament. That memory had to be one that bothered the brat. Even if it wouldn't be a humiliating memory, the mere thought of seeing, first hand, what had happened that infamous night was titillating, to say the least.

Frozen in indecision for several long moments, Severus finally strode forward the last three steps and swiped the vial up off his desk and stalked back into his private storage area. He still had the pensieve Albus had loaned him last year, and that was the safest place for him to store it. No one got into his private stores, at least, not the students.

Refusing to think about it further, Severus quickly pulled out the currently empty pensieve and dumped the memory into it. Pausing only a moment, he touched his wand to the bluish white, misty fluid and was sucked inside the memory.

_At first he wasn't entirely certain where he was, then recognized several landmarks near Potter's home. The brat was at the park just down the street, sitting on one of the belt swings, idly swinging. Severus frowned. What the bloody hell had the boy been doing there after sunset. He should have long since been in the safety of his home._

"Hey look!" a male voice shouted gleefully. "It's the freak!"

The voice startled Severus and he spun around, only to freeze, his eyes widening in shock. Frankly, he was staring at the largest human being he'd ever seen - outside of those, like Hagrid, who sported giant's blood in their background. Only this boy wasn't all that tall, he was just . . . round. He made the three boys standing next to him seem small; though, none of them were as small as Potter.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Potter roll his eyes and sigh, bringing the swing to a halt by the simple expediency of dragging a foot along the ground. He stood slowly, his hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, eyes hooded and wary.

Severus' frown deepened, all the details reminding him deeply of someone expecting to be hurt. Potter's behavior reminded him disturbingly of himself at that age, something he'd _never_ seen before in the boy. If that was the case, however, why didn't the boy simply run home? It wasn't that far, surely he could run faster than the tub of lard approaching him.

"What do you want, Dudley?" Potter asked, all but sneering.

_Dudley?_ This was Potter's cousin? That certainly explained why he wasn't running. He couldn't get away from the other boy when they lived in the same home. Severus had seen younger images of him in Potter's memory during occlumency training, and the boy had been vastly overweight then. Now, Severus didn't see how the boy could _move_ comfortably.

It was certainly odd, comparing the two. Potter was so . . . tiny, compared to the other boy, something Severus didn't understand - height wise, anyway - James Potter, certainly hadn't been short, and neither had Lily.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Dursley taunted.

And that wasn't lame at all, Severus thought drily.

"Not really," Potter replied, rolling his eyes again. "See you at home," he continued, then turned to walk away.

"Not so fast!" said one of the three boys with Dursley.

Potter slumped and stopped. "What is it, Polkiss? Don't you have something more interesting to do?"

"Not at the moment," 'Polkiss' retorted, grinning.

Severus didn't like the malicious cast to the grin and was uneasily beginning to suspect this memory just might actually _be_ a bad one. In fact, it was reminding him all too much of the times the Marauders had ganged up on him, and he wasn't liking the association. He didn't want anything in common with a Potter, _any_ Potter.

His horror beginning to grow, Severus continued to watch as the four boys latched onto Potter and dragged him to the edge of the park to where the trees cast the deepest shadows against the street lights. Whatever was going to happen couldn't be good if it required more than the cover of nightfall.

"I found something going through your things, freak," Dursley taunted smugly, and Severus noticed immediately that Potter paled dramatically, his skin tone taking on the likeness of Draco's usual coloring.

"Stay out of my things, Dudley!" Potter demanded hotly, all bluster as far as Severus could see, since the boy was practically curled in on himself.

Dursley just laughed, as did the boys with him.

"You see, guys," Dursley offered, "the freak, here, likes blokes."

All three boys recoiled away from Potter, releasing him automatically in their horror, as if they could be contaminated simply from touching him.

Potter darted around them almost instantly, or he tried to. Dursley's hand shot out, his meaty fist closing around Potter's upper arm, holding him in place.

Severus mind wanted to shut down at what followed, and when Potter was held down on the ground, his clothes ripped from him, Severus jerked himself back so swiftly, he was ripped from the memory, only to find himself in another, instead of outside the pensieve.

Potter was bruised as he limped into the house.

The first thing Severus noticed was the Dursley boy speaking with a man that had to be Mr. Dursley, crocodile tears streaking his face. "And . . . and . . . and there was . . . touching involved."

Mr. Dursley rounded on Potter. "Why you filthy, little _freak_!" Dursley shouted, his face turning red as he stormed over to the barely standing Potter. The moment he was close enough, Dursley struck out, backhanding Potter off his feet.

Severus gaped in astonishment at the scene unfolding in front of him. Anyone with eyes could see that Potter had come off the worse for whatever encounter had happened. The Dursley boy hadn't a scratch on him.

Dursley quickly recovered his balance and struck again, this time kicking out, catching Potter in the ribs.

What disturbed Severus the most about the whole thing - beyond the _whole thing_ - was the fact that Potter didn't cry out with either blow, barely made a sound at all, in fact. That said, disturbingly, that he was quite used to it.

"Get up, Boy!"

Potter moved, wincing as he tried to obey. He wasn't fast enough for his uncle, however, and the thug reached down and yanked Potter to his feet. The boy did cry out then, clenching an arm across his ribs. Severus winced, suspecting the boy might have a fractured rib or two. He certainly wouldn't be surprised if there were.

He followed as the larger man all but dragged the boy up the stairs and literally threw him into a small room. He winced at that, then scowled as he watched the arse lock several locks on the _outside_ of what appeared to be Potter's room.

"We'll just see if two weeks without any food will teach you to keep your digusting, filthy, freakish ideas and _hands_ to yourself!"  


In shock, Severus found himself outside the pensieve before he could react to the ridiculous statement. Surely the muggle had been exaggerating in his anger. It took a couple minutes before he could shake himself out of his daze; somewhere in the back of his mind, acknowledging that Potter had chosen a memory that more than equalled the one he'd stolen. In fact, Severus was fairly certain that nothing on earth could have made _him_ part with it like this.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed suddenly, realizing that he had to go back in. He had to watch the first memory to determine just what had happened to the boy. That kind of attack left scars that needed to be addressed. With an aggrieved sigh, he once again touched his wand to the now detested fluid and allowed himself to be drawn back into the horrifying memory. As the scene began once again, he only briefly allowed himself to wonder if this . . . sharing served just one purpose, or two?

That would be easily discovered, he decided, and focused his full attention on what he least wanted to see.

x-x-x

Severus barked out for a house elf as he emerged from his store room.

"How can Dispy be serving Potions Master?"

"Tea, chamomile, hot."

"Yes, Potions Mast-"

"Now!"

Thankfully, the elf disappeared quickly at that, as he had absolutely no patience for any kind of antics at the moment. Waiting, Severus sat behind his desk, mulling over all he'd seen. It was a small mercy - a very small one - that the three criminal boys hadn't actually stooped as far as outright raping Potter; though, he doubted the boy took terribly much comfort from that - all things considered. The main problem, at the moment at least, was what did _he_ do about it? It wasn't in his nature to let abuse of any sort pass without notice. It reminded him all too much of being a young child himself, of being unable to protect himself or his mother, of wishing that someone bigger than his father would come along and bully him.

The house elf reappeared suddenly and set a steaming hot cup of tea in front of him. Severus sighed in relief and took an immediate sip of the soothing blend. "Thank you," he breathed.

The house elf beamed, bursting into tears as she quickly disappeared.

He didn't usually indulge in chamomile, but he needed something before facing Potter, something far less drastic than a calming potion.

_On second thought._

The boy would be back any moment now, Severus was sure, and he wanted to be ready for him. Severus rose quickly and strode to his potions cupboard, accessing it and grabbing out a vial of calming potion. He couldn't allow his routine feelings about the boy interfere with the conversation, but he didn't want to be _numb_ either; so, he dosed his tea with a very small portion of potion.

The first thing he wanted to determine, he decided as he drank, was how serious the muggle had been about the food. At the same time, he could most likely discover the answer to his second question; whether or not the boy had given him those specific memories with an ulterior motive. He snorted. Not that he would actually blame the boy for having one. It was just that it was such a Slytherin way to ask for help without actually asking - sharing that particular memory instead of a different one that would have been peer based, as his had been. If that's what he'd done, Potter had risked nothing in the asking. If the request was rebuffed or ignored, both parties could pretend it hadn't happened, or that perhaps the other party had misunderstood, rather than hadn't cared. He really didn't think Potter had it in him to be that cunning, but if it turned out he did, it certainly put a whole new perspective on some of the things the boy had done over the years.

In fact, what he'd just seen, regardless of Potter's motives, did that all by itself. Victims of abuse, especially long term abuse that had gone ignored, tended not to trust authority figures to do what was in their best interests. It was enough to make him wonder if all Potter's adventures had been glory seeking stunts after all. Had the brat simply not trusted anyone else enough to let it go? It was a very disturbing realization to come to, even if he wasn't yet sure, and he almost hated the boy even more now, for having lived a life less like his father and more like _he_ had.

Of course, it was always possible that both instances were one time situations that hadn't occurred before or since.

Severus snorted instantly at the thought. While the child Dursley's attack might have been a first time situation, he was positive the older Dursley's had not been. The physical attack alone could have been; but the threat of long term food deprivation, that had been an oddly specific threat, completely out of context to the supposed offense.

It also explained Potter's stature, Severus realized suddenly - if the withholding of food had been a common occurrence throughout his childhood. Extended periods of malnutrition would certainly stunt growth, some of the effects being permanent. Not even potions could correct severe malnutrition completely.

No, Severus thought firmly. He had to be misreading the situation entirely. If the level of abuse was what his imagination was driving it to, there was no way the boy would have been sorted into Gryffindor. Abused children tended to become Slytherins or reclusive Ravenclaws, not outgoing, impulsive Gryffindors. He frowned in thought, trying to sort through all the information he had. Quite frankly, the bloody brat had turned into something of a cunundrum, and Severus _hated_ those with a passion that nearly equalled his hate for the late James Potter. He did not like not understanding exactly what he was dealing with. He liked even less, changing his long held opinion of someone. If the boy had been being abused, _how_ had he missed it? He not only saw the effects of it every day of the school year, he knew intimately what they were, having experienced them himself.

At a knock on his door, Severus' head shot up and he glared. That had to be Potter, and he was no closer to deciding what, if anything, needed to be done. It wasn't like the boy would have to go back, after all. The Dursley family had abandoned him this summer.

_And what kind of people simply leave behind a 15 year old boy to fend for himself?_

Blowing out an exasperated breath, feeling right back where he'd started, Severus stood. "Come in!" he called sharply.

Potter hadn't even made it all the way into the room when Severus went on the offensive.

"What is the longest time you've gone without food?" he demanded sharply, without warning.

The boy's eyes widened in shock at the question, the shock followed quickly by confusion.

"Why do you ask that?" Potter asked, nearly gaping at him.

In response, Severus silently held out the memory vial.

Eyes narrowing in further confusion, Potter shook his head. "What does one have to do with the other?"

_Bloody hell!_ Had the boy not purposely included the second memory?

And the twist was, he hadn't got _either_ of his primary questions answered.

"Answer the question!" he snapped out angrily.

Potter backed up warily, clutching the books he carried to his chest. "In recent memory, a week or so," he shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"So, he didn't follow through on the threat, then?" Severus asked pointedly, watching carefully while he allowed the realization to settle that his imagination hadn't run away with him. He'd been right about the deprivation.

"Who?"

"Your uncle," Severus replied sharply, tilting the bottle, "that night."

Potter blanched. "How?"

"Answer . the . question," he repeated slowly, only barely holding on to his temper. This situation had done nothing to discourage his dislike of the boy and _that_ was not helping keep hold of his temper.

"Fine! Yes, he did. He locked me in that damn room for two weeks."

"Language, Potter," Severus snapped automatically. "And the threat of no food?"

Potter sighed. "He followed through on _that_ too," he replied bitterly.

Severus frowned. Something wasn't adding up here. "Then why your answer of only one week?"

"Because," he answered tightly, "ever since coming here, I've squirreled away food at the end of each year that will last and take it home with me for just that type of thing. And since the Weasleys rescued me and discovered the bars on my windows before second year, Mrs. Weasley has always sent me food for my birthday, as well."

Severus was in shock. The Weasleys knew? He simply couldn't see the Weasley matriarch letting something like this go by with a simple 'gift package' well over a month into summer! Maybe this wasn't as bad as it seemed, after all. He kept going back and forth on that; though, he _had_ concluded that it was never actually good. He just wasn't certain how bad 'not good' had been.

That was it! He was going to get to the bottom of this, if it was the last thing he did.

"Put the books on my desk and sit down," he ordered, taking one of the seats, himself. He was not going to have what was sure to be a drawn out, headache inducing, conversation while standing. Potter slowly complied and Severus nearly smirked as he watched the boy warily do as he was told. It was abundantly clear to him that the brat had no idea what to make of the situation he found himself in _or_ him, for that matter.

That was all to the good, as far as he was concerned. He might actually get honest answers out of the boy in that case.

Once the boy was seated - perched awkwardly on the edge of his chair, Severus leaned forward. "We are going to have a serious talk, you and I," he began, for the first time ever, speaking realtively civily to the Gryffindor - if still firmly.

The boy's eyes widened again, frank horror shining out of them. "About what, Sir?" he asked.

Severus barely refrained from rolling his eyes at the boy's obvious delay tactic. "That should be obvious," he replied drily, "even to you, Potter."

Potter bristled instantly, but merely clenched his jaw in response to the very minor insult.

"We will discuss the memories you-"

"Memories!" Potter yelped, interrupting him.

Before he could reprimand the brat, however, he continued.

"I only put one memory in there!"

So, the second memory had been unintentional. The question remained, however, which had he been intended to receive? He supposed the boy's confusion over his questions about food, suggested the first had. His intent need to understand, allowed Severus to gloss over the shocked interruption, and he went straight for what he wanted to know. "Which memory had you intended me to see?" he asked casually. "Your uncle? Or your cousin?"

"Not my uncle," Potter muttered. "That wasn't humiliating." He shrugged then. "Except for the kicking part, it was just a little worse than normal."

Severus nearly winced at that. Nothing about what he'd seen - in either memory - should be considered anywhere near normal. "Have you ever told anyone about your home life?"

"Not in so many words," Potter hedged.

"Not in so many words," Severus repeated flatly. "What _have_ you told anyone?"

Potter shrugged again - and _that_ was getting very irritating, very quickly. "I told the headmaster that my family doesn't like me very much. The Weasleys too. Ron and Hermione both know the Dursleys don't treat me very well, that they insult me and my parents a lot."

"And that's all anyone knows?" Severus demanded.

Potter shook his head at that, clearly relaxing more the longer Severus did not question him about what his cousin had done.

"Well, then," Severus urged irritatedly, "what _else_ have you told about?"

"Nothing, Sir." Potter denied. "Some things happened when and where others could find out about them."

As he listened, Severus came closer to actually gaping than he had in years, and if the story he was hearing had been told in anything other than the matter-of-fact, I-want-to-get-this-over-with tone Potter used, Severus would suspect it of being full of exaggerations, if not outright lies.

Of course, another factor in the boy's favor was the easily verifiable aspects of most of what the boy said.

_Yes, and aren't the best, most powerful, lies interspersed with enough truth to _make_ them so believable?_

Severus did something he hadn't done in years; he tuned out his inner paranoia and just listened.

_Letters addressed to his cupboard under the stairs? The family had run away to prevent him attending Hogwarts, to keep him from even finding- out he was a wizard? Mr. Dursley telling Hagrid about intending on turning Potter muggle._

_As if!_ Severus thought with a purely mental snort. _Not the brightest wand in the store, is he?_ Another thought intruded over that, and he had to wonder just how Dursley had intended 'turning his nephew muggle'. Severus could only think of one way, and it certainly went a long way to explaining why Potter could remain silent during the beating he'd witnessed. He didn't allow his thoughts to distract him completely from Potter's narration, however.

_The Weasley brothers breaking the **bars** from his window._

_Wait._ "When did you move from the cupboard under the stairs?"

"When I got back from first year. The address on all my letters scared them, I think."

"_All_ your letters?" Severus couldn't help but ask. "You received more than one?"

"My uncle tore up and trashed the first one, didn't even let me see it."

Severus felt his eyes widen as this backtracked story unfolded. He nearly laughed out loud when Potter reached the fateful Sunday of that week. He could just picture these muggles - who were looking more and more like the opposite of the wizarding pureblood bigots - being virtually buried in owls and magically propelled letters. He imagined it would be very similar to the reaction in Malfoy Manor were the residents to be inundated with muggles - only with less bloodshed. When Potter wound down, he nodded in response. "Continue."

"That's pretty much what anyone has found out until now, Sir."

"What about Mrs. Weasley's care packages?" There had to be a reason she sent them, after all. What clue had she been given. It was beginning to look like Potter had been crying out since the beginning, but nobody had been really listening.

"She just didn't like how skinny I looked, I guess," Potter replied evenly. "She's always trying to feed everyone."

_And don't I know **that**!_ Severus thought with a not so mental snort. That blasted woman was always on his back about eating more.

"Why do you care about all this, anyway?" Potter asked suddenly.

"And I suppose you expected me to simply ignore all the evidence of abuse?" he demanded back.

"Well," Potter replied, "quite frankly, yes. It's not like I can be sent back there again. The wards are broken and even if they could fix them, no one knows where the Dursleys went."

Rage rose within Severus; though, he stomped it down just as quickly.

"Why did you choose _that_ memory, then?" he demanded.

"Honestly, Sir?"

Severus' eyes narrowed and he glared at the insolent boy as his response to _that_ inane question.

"Right," Potter replied, just as if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "Honestly, it is."

Potter did not continue for several moments, clearly gathering his thoughts.

"The main reason I chose it was because it was the single most humiliating thing that had ever happened to me. I felt that was just recompense for _I'd_ seen."

"And the second reason?" he asked. There had to be one, for there to be a 'main' reason.

"I don't ever want to be forced back there, Sir."

"If you'd have simply been more plain that they more than 'don't like you', that they actively abuse you-"

"I tried, Sir!" Potter exclaimed. "What kind of kid asks _not_ to go home for summer break? What kind of kid asks to stay _anywhere_ but 'home'?"

Severus had to admit, at least to himself, that the boy had a good point. The very first time he'd mentioned not wanting to go home, someone should have looked into it. He wondered why no one had - or _if_ they had.

"I figured that if even one person knew - for sure - what had happened that night, even the faint risk of being sent back might be gone for good, and this just kind of accomplished both reasons at once."

"Besides, it wouldn't have done any good," Potter muttered. "The headmaster _knew_. He's known all along!"

Severus eyes narrowed and he stepped forward menacingly. "That is an awful accusation, Potter! _How_ could he have known, if you never told anyone?"

"He told me so, himself," Potter muttered, slumping, seemingly all the heat and anger going out of him, apparent defeat taking its place.

"What?" He could not have heard the brat right.

"At the end of last year," Potter whispered. "After the ministry, he told me."

"Told you what, exactly?" he asked, having absolutely no desire to be drawn into some misunderstanding between the two. This was too important for that.

Potter took a deep breath, and when he began speaking he sounded very much as if he was quoting from memory. "Five years ago, you arrived at Hogwarts, Harry, safe and whole, as I had planned and intended. Well - not quite whole. You had suffered. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years." He paused a moment, shaking his head. "It's repeated in my head so many times, I've got it memorized. 'You arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well nourished as I would have liked, perhaps, yet alive and healthy. You were not a pampered little prince, but as normal a boy as I could have hoped for under the circumstances."

Potter looked down after that, falling completely silent.

Who was this child, Severus wondered and what had he done with the arrogant, brash Gryffindor, who strutted around the school as if he owned it? A child who could think _this_ all through to its proper conclusion, belonged in Slytherin. Of course, the blunt honesty with which the boy had spoken was pure Gryffindor. And the boy _had_ been honest, painfully so, his body language and his eyes both screamed that fact.

"And that's all you wanted from me?" Severus demanded, needing to know where the boy's head really was, and not wanting to think about Albus Dumbledore's part in all this. It brought bad thoughts from his own past and things Albus had done before this.

"About the memory?" Potter replied. "Yes."

And wasn't _that_ such an interesting caveat?

"So you _do_ want something else?"

"Not because of, or in reaction to, that memory, Sir, but yes, I do."

Severus cocked an eyebrow at the boy and waited. There wasn't a Gryffindor alive who could resist filling the silence eventually. He didn't have to wait long really; though, longer than he would have thought.

"I need to get better at occlumency, Sir." He sighed and shook his head. "I've improved on my own, but I need help to get further. I can't tell how good - or not good - I'm doing, if I'm never tested."

"So," Severus sneered bitterly, "the headmaster _did_ send you down." He'd just been beginning to believe the boy had come on his own and this was a bitter letdown.

"No!" Potter exclaimed instantly.

Severus narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"The headmaster ordered me to attend weekly '_anger management_' sessions with you, but has said nothing about occlumency training. I seriously need to learn this, Sir. I don't want anyone else to die because I can't keep Vol- _his_ lies out of my head."

Severus frowned and leaned back, contemplating the pleading boy sitting in front of him. Did he, or did he not, trust that the boy spoke the truth?

"Why me?"

"Your opinion of me can't _get_ any lower." Potter frowned then. "At least, I don't think it can. I didn't want anyone else to think I was weak."

Once again flung off track by the boy's words, Severus leaned toward him. "There are a myriad of reasons why I don't like you, Potter; we both know that. This memory will not change that one way or the other."

_Liar!_

"And if _I_ can say that, then no one else will believe you are weak just because of it."

Potter didn't say anything, but his look said plenty. The boy didn't believe a word of it.

Severus mentally shrugged. Time would convince the boy. He certainly didn't have to, nor did he have the patience or desire to try.

TBC  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline contained in this story. I will make no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended. It is solely for entertainment value.

Thanks Sachaelle! : ) A#1 Summer of 4th year. A#2 While there are no pairings in this specific episode, there will be both het and slash pairings in the series.

xxxxxxxxxx  
Chapter Five  
xxxxxxxxxx

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nearly the last to leave the DADA classroom, Hermione having taken longer than either of them to finish up her notes and collect all her belongings. Malfoy moved passed them just as Hermione finished, merely nodding as he left; something Harry found decidedly odd. Of course, that wasn't anything new this year. Malfoy had been acting oddly since the welcoming feast. It had become more and more obvious as the weeks passed without clashes between their two groups.

"Anyone else think something's off with Malfoy?" Ron asked, staring after the Slytherin.

Hermione and he both nodded as they all made their way out of the room.

"He hasn't called me names at all this year," Hermione admitted, wearing a puzzled expression.

Harry shared a look with Ron, knowing full well what that particular expression meant. Their friend wanted to know _why_.

Ron shrugged. "At least _this_ shouldn't lead to library research," he replied offhand, grinning crookedly when Hermione huffed in response.

"Don't _you_ want to know why he's acting so oddly?"

"Well, yeah," Ron admitted, to Harry's amusement, "but that doesn't mean I like reading through boring old books."

Hermione rolled her eyes, while Harry just laughed.

She leaned in closer to the two of them after a quick glance around, presumably to make sure no one else was close enough to hear what she was going to say. "Professor Vane assigned paired projects in runes class earlier today, and she paired Malfoy with me."

Both Harry and Ron groaned.

"That's just it," Hermione continued, as if their groans had been actual comments. "He didn't protest, sneer, or . . . anything. He _even_ came over to my desk instead of waiting for me to move. The whole class was spent actually working together to figure out just what we wanted to work on."

Harry gaped at her.

"You're kidding!" Ron exclaimed.

"Sshh!" Hermione scolded immediately. "I think something's really up with Malfoy. It's like he's being extra careful not to make trouble, or something."

"That's not like him," Harry replied thoughtfully, though, he had noticed the same thing; he simply hadn't been able to put what he was feeling into words. "He usually seems to revel in being the center of attention."

"You think that maybe he's setting a trap," Ron suggested, "trying to lull us into a false sense of security?"

Harry blinked at Ron in surprise, vaguely noticing Hermione doing the same thing. Harry stopped, the moment he realized just how insulting their reactions were. Ron wasn't stupid, he just didn't care much about school - a lot like Fred and George, actually; though, Harry was sure Ron would pretend insult at the comparison.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like Ron had missed their reactions. He huffed and strode ahead of both of them.

Harry hurried to catch up. "It's not what you think, Ron," Harry tried.

"Yeah?" Ron asked, his voice more than a little bitter. "What is it, you think that I think?"

"I know you're not stupid," Harry said, instead of answering the question directly.

Ron scoffed.

"The way you play chess proves that."

"Yeah?" Ron asked, this time sounding hesitantly interested, instead of bitter.

"Yeah. You just don't often bother to show it anywhere else," Harry continued. "And _that's_ what surprised us."

Ron stared at him, eyes narrowed for several long moments. "Yeah, okay, I can see that," he said finally, relieving Harry greatly. He really didn't want to be at odds with either of his friends right now. He needed them both more than ever this year; so much was changing. Malfoy was acting weird. His own powers were still a bit wonky. Snape was actually being half-way civil to him - in the occlumency, disguised as anger management, training; though, the man was nearly as rude as ever in potions class. Neither had told the headmaster that occlumency training had been resumed, nor had either of them admitted that his so called anger management sessions were being waylaid - at least Harry didn't think Snape had. He certainly hadn't. It felt decidedly odd to have a shared secret with the dreaded potions master.

Hermione smiled at them both, before focusing on Ron. "Harry said it better than I could," she admitted.

_Wow! I'm better at something than Hermione. Who'd have thought!_ Though, to be fair, Harry had to admit that tact was really not one of his brainy friend's strengths. Of course, until now, he didn't think it was one of _his_ either.

"So," Ron said suddenly, "what are we going to do about Malfoy?"

Hermione shrugged. "Nothing, right now," she replied primly. "You have to get to divination, and Harry and I need to get to potions. We don't have much time left."

Harry blanched. He really didn't want to be late to potions. Regardless of the man's recent . . . softening in attitude towards him, Harry dared not risk the man's wrath. He did not doubt it wouldn't take much to put things right back where they were before, something Harry wanted to avoid at all costs. He was sure that even a tiny hint that Harry was 'taking advantage' of the lessening of hostility - whether he actually was or not - would put them farther back than where they'd started. He was actually getting better in potions, not being so tense, frustrated and angry at the professor all the time.

Now that he thought about it, however, he realized it might also have something to do with the fact that Malfoy had yet to try and sabotage a single one of his potions this year either. Either way, it certainly hadn't hurt his grades any, and he wanted it to continue.

As Ron yelped and hurried off toward the divination tower, Hermione started quickly for the dungeons. Harry hurried after, yelling off a quick, 'see ya later' to Ron.

x-x-x

If Draco had been less concerned about what others thought of him, he would seriously be gaping at the professor right now. Why did he choose _now_ to pair him with Potter. It seemed completely unreal.

"Well?" the professor demanded, and Draco startled.

He rose - though, he suspected the professor had been urging Potter to move - and quickly gathered his things together. When he turned and headed towards the Gryffindors' table, he nearly smirked at the gobsmacked expression on Potter's face, his hands frozen in midact of refilling his bag. The idiot didn't move until Draco sat on the empty stool next to him - Granger having already moved to sit beside her assigned partner, Pansy.

As far as he was concerned, this whole day had been perfect. As much as he didn't really want to be working with Granger in runes, it gave him an opportunity, one he was going to seize with both hands. Now that Professor Snape had paired him with Potter, he might be inclined to wonder if either, or both, of the professors knew what he was trying to do - _if_ he was a more paranoid sort. There was no way, after all, that anyone but himself could know. He hadn't told anyone, and hadn't made any overt moves yet. The only tiny _possible_ clue was him keeping his head down - and that could have so many reasons behind it as to be impossible to pinpoint.

"You know," Draco whispered drily, as he set out his supplies, "if you stay that way too long, you might get stuck."

Potter's mouth snapped shut and his hands dropped to the table top. Surprisingly enough, the Gryffindor didn't over-react to the mild taunt, merely rolling his eyes after the initial shock seemed to wear off, and he began resetting up his own supplies.

Maybe this would be easier than he'd thought it would be. Nearly the moment he'd stopped tormenting them, they had seemingly backed off as well. It couldn't be that easy, could it? It certainly wouldn't have been with another Slytherin - not without major concessions, at any rate.

"Get moving!"

Draco jumped, so absorbed in his thoughts he hadn't heard the professor's orders. Good thing he already knew what they were making, or he might be in trouble. Relying on Potter to get it right wasn't something he was prepared to do - not in potions class at any rate. He supposed he was going to be doing just that elsewhere. It was an uneasy thought; though, he had to admit that since the Gryffindor seemed to keep coming out on top of his encounters with the dark lord, it shouldn't be _too_ alarming. Of course, the fact that most of the people he'd taught in the DA - yes, what that group had really been had spread over the school within hours of Umbridge's breaking in on them - had passed their owls with Os - even Longbottom - certainly didn't hurt. Through the rumor mill, Draco had heard that Potter had even been helping 7th years. Now _that_ was impressive, given that Potter had been in his 5th year at the time.

He rose at the same time Potter did, forgoing his usual demand that his 'partners' fetch all the ingredients. He didn't suppose continuing that attitude would assist in getting Potter to accept him - besides which, he wasn't entirely certain the Gryffindor would get the right supplies in the first place. He sighed in resignation, wondering just how much he was going to have to change about his way of doing things before Potter and his posse would accept that he didn't want anything to do with the dark lord. He'd already stopped calling all the . . . muggleborns mudblood, was actually finding that he wasn't all that tempted really, and that disturbed him a little. He snorted mentally as the two of them gathered what they needed from the student stores. He hadn't wanted anything to do with the snake faced bastard from almost the first moment he'd met the wizard, _despite_ the urgings of the family curse to accept the dark lord and what he wanted of him, but that didn't automatically translate into him wanting to get all lovey-dovey with the mu-ggleborns, either.

Draco shook himself free of the dangerous thoughts as he vaguely noticed Potter reaching for the dried maradin leaves instead of the fresh. "Not that," he said quietly, keeping everything he felt about Potter's probable intelligence out of his voice, "we need to slice fresh leaves," he continued, picking up the proper jar and handing it to the Gryffindor.

Potter nodded, accepting the jar. "Thanks," he said, turning and heading back to their table.

Draco blinked and stared after the Gryffindor in shock for several seconds before quickly following. Shaking his head, he freely admitted - at least to himself - that he would never understand Gryffindors. It would not have been near that easy to get a thank you out of _him_ in the Griff's place. He supposed it didn't really matter that he didn't truly understand Potter, and spent the rest of the class quietly cooperating with him. He was surprised to discover that, while he'd had to correct Potter a couple of times, he had to do so less often than he would have expected to, given past experience.

Together they managed to brew the Skele-grow potion. It would have been easier on his own, but more time consuming, which was why the professor had assigned partners to start with. One person could not have finished brewing this particular potion in one class session, even a double one.

"It looks right," Potter offered quietly, staring at their finished potion intently.

"It is right," Draco replied just as quietly, sneering for any possible audience the moment Potter's back was turned. He had no intention of letting the professor - or anyone else - know anything that might give them clues what he was up to, at least not until he was ready. At some point it would become obvious and that was unavoidable, but, if at all possible, he wanted that moment to wait until after Potter's protection was virtually guaranteed - better yet, in place. "You know, you really aren't all that bad at this," he told Potter as he carefully bottled two samples of their potion. "You just need more information on the basics, methods of preparing ingredients and such, why different ingredients are prepared certain ways when combined with other specific ingredients."

"It really makes that much difference?" Potter asked, tilting his head to the side slightly and watching him rather intently, speculatively.

Draco ignored the look as much as possible, given that it unnerved him a little. What was the Gryffindor seeing, or wondering, that made him look that deeply? "Yes, it does. Different types of cuts release differing amounts of the components of each ingredient at different speeds." Draco frowned and turned to face his partner after securing the second stopper. "You really should have already learned this before first year even. It's basic level stuff."

Potter turned away almost before Draco was finished speaking. "How could I?" he asked bitterly. "I didn't even know I was a wizard until my 11th birthday."

Draco's eyes widened. Potter wasn't muggleborn - even if his mother had been. His _father_ had been a pureblood. How could he _not_ have known he was a wizard from the time he was very young?

"Hand in your samples now," Professor Snape demanded of the class. "If your potion isn't finished yet, you get a zero for the day. This is NEWT level potions and I will tolerate neither laziness nor disorganization. By now each and every one of you should be sufficiently skilled - relatively speaking - to be able to complete every potion I assign within the designated time frame. If you fail to complete more than three potions you will no longer be part of this class. I will not waste my time with those who refuse to learn!"

Draco felt sure the professor had directed a hard stare directly at Potter as he said that, and was intensely curious what _that_ was about. Sure, Potter would never be a master at potions, but he _did_ learn. How else could he have made it into NEWT level potions after taking remedial potions last year? Sure there was a story he was unaware of, Draco redirected his attention back to his partner and was surprised to see a hint of a smirk lingering on the Gryffindor's down turned face. Now, he _knew_ there was a story to be discovered! He just had to figure out how to discover what it was. He was pretty sure it was strictly between Potter and the professor, however, and that left him with few - try no - options for finding out what it was; which was something of a disappointment. Maybe after he'd convinced the Gryffindor.

"How did you not know?" Draco asked as they packed up their supplies, going back to the topic of discussion before the professor's interruption.

Potter shrugged, then turned to face him, frowning slightly. "Why are you being so . . . nice all of a sudden?"

_Nice?_ Draco shuddered, but let the description pass for now. He worried his lower lip, wondering if it was still too soon. He had everything he needed. Even the potion had been brewed. He just didn't want to reveal himself before there was even a remote chance of everything falling into place. He cast a quick glance around the nearly empty classroom, before deciding. Even Granger and the weasel were gone already. Still, he leaned closer and lowered his voice, wanting to take no extra chances that someone might overhear. "Not here," he replied, barely moving his mouth and keeping his gaze firmly on his bag sitting on the table. "Meet me tonight, and we'll talk." He nearly cringed mentally as he continued. "Please."

Potter's frown deepened. "Listen, I'm not trying to start trouble where there is none, but we've got . . . history with this scenario."

Draco did wince then. He'd forgotten about the time he'd set up a duel with Potter only to rat him out instead of following through. That Potter remembered that incident wasn't going to make this any easier. "I'm not planning to tell _anyone_ about this meeting, Potter," he hissed quietly, the two of them heading for the door.

Potter snorted. "Why should I trust you?"

Draco sighed. He should have known it wouldn't be as easy as it had seemed near the beginning of class. Unfortunately, they were running out of time to finish this conversation. They'd already spoken without wands being drawn for longer than they'd _ever_ done so. He didn't have any other choice, not if he wanted to secure his position any time soon. "You can bring the brown and red bookends with you. I'll come on my own and I swear on my magic that I'm not trying to set you up. I just want to talk to you."

Potter blinked, his mouth falling open slightly.

_At least he isn't completely gobsmacked,_ he thought with a mental snort. _That really isn't a good look on anyone._

"Alright," Potter hissed with a sigh, "outside the hidden east exit at 11pm." Then, without a further word, he strode away, quickly putting distance between the two of them.

Draco didn't try and stop him, nodding his head once, relieved, even though Potter couldn't see his response. He spun and strode the opposite direction. He wanted to double check he had everything he needed for tonight's meeting before he headed to the library to study. He was also glad that Potter hadn't chosen the astronomy tower. Not only was it far too . . . cliche, it would be one of the first places the prefects and the professor's - not to mention Filch - would look for out of bounds students. He wanted this talk to go uninterrupted. It was far too important to his future - all their futures really. If the Malfoys threw in their lot with Potter, it would shift the power balance significantly. Even he knew that. The Malfoys just might bring with them the Crabbes and Goyles, the longstanding alliance between the three families very strong; though, that couldn't be guaranteed.

x-x-x

Harry hurried to catch up to his friends. They had just been speculating that something odd was up with Malfoy, and now, it seemed, something very odd really was up. That the prat seemed to actually want to talk privately was beyond surprising, despite the Slytherin's more . . . civil demeanor this year. He just wasn't sure whether or not to believe he really would be coming alone, in spite of having told Harry he could bring Ron and Hermione. That really didn't make any sense, not if he understood Slytherin thinking at all - which, frankly, he was beginning to doubt. Malfoy certainly wasn't making any sense.

"Ron! Hermione!" he called out, the moment he caught sight of the two.

Both stopped and turned, waiting for him to catch up. "You'll never believe what just happened to me," he said as he drew even with his two friends.

Hermione snorted and shook her head. "Considering all the exceedingly strange things that have happened to you over the years, Harry," she replied drily, "I would probably believe just about anything."

Harry laughed; the girl had a point.

"What happened, Harry?" Ron asked, grinning. "Malfoy lose all his hair?"

Harry blinked at the rather random guess, frowning slightly. "Not quite," he replied slowly, shaking his head at the image that popped into his brain. A bald Malfoy, a rather scary sight, truth be told. "But, not here. Neither of you have a class right now, right?"

Both shook their heads.

"Good," he said firmly, heading immediately toward the entrance hall. "Let's go somewhere we won't be overheard."

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them were at the far south end of school grounds, 50 yards or more from any obstacles anyone could hide behind. With that, Hermione's privacy spells would definitely be adequate to preventing their conversation from being overheard. As soon as they were cast, and the three of them were comfortably seated, Harry hurriedly relayed the conversation he'd had with Malfoy - including the wand oath he'd sworn. His two friends stared at him in shock for several seconds before he got impatient.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you think?"

"Blimey, Harry!" Ron exclaimed, shaking his head in outright disbelief. "You can't really believe Malfoy isn't up to something, can you?"

"Well," Hermione replied slowly, obviously still thinking as she spoke, "he _did_ swear an oath."

"Yeah," Ron agreed drily, "one that only said he wasn't trying to set Harry up with the meeting, not that he wasn't going to get us in trouble some other way. I don't trust him," he finished flatly.

Of course, Ron didn't trust Malfoy. The day Ron did that, was the day the devil took up ice skating in hell, Harry thought with no little humor.

"You've already decided you're going to go," Hermione said shrewdly, "haven't you?"

Harry nodded. He was too curious not to. If nothing else came of it, he might be able to figure out what the prat was up to. He couldn't do that, if he didn't hear what the Slytherin had to say first, now could he?

"Harrrry," Ron protested.

"You're not going alone," Hermione said firmly, completely overriding Ron's whined objection, to which Ron nodded emphatically. "And you're going to take other precautions."

"I already planned on taking you to with me," Harry agreed immediately. That was easy. It wasn't like he trusted the Slytherin prat either. "And I thought, invisibility cloak."

"Good start, but we won't all fit under it any more."

"True. Hermione, any ideas?"

"Dissallusionment charm."

They discussed several more options before turning the subject to Professor Snape. Harry grinned then. "It's been going great, actually!" he exclaimed. "I'm keeping the professor out longer and longer. And when he does get in, he usually doesn't see anything I don't want him to see." Laughing, he shook his head and leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as he confided in the two of them. "I usually shove boring or sickeningly sweet stuff at him."

"Like what, Harry?" Ron asked, eyes dancing merrily.

"Oh, Binns' class, Lavender and Pavarti gossiping about boyfriends, Moaning Myrtle complaining about her lack of love prospects."

Both Hermione and Ron shuddered at that.

He snorted. "He usually withdraws very quickly with those last two."

Harry was happy - even with the Malfoy mystery. Things seemed to be going right for him, for a change. The only thing he hadn't managed to do this year that he'd set out to do, was set things right with the headmaster. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure that was going to happen any time soon. He was still far to angry at the wizard for that to happen. It hadn't helped that the headmaster had yet to relent in regard to the 'anger management'. Harry completely disregarded the fact that he hadn't had a single session, despite the headmaster, having occlumency instead. It was entirely beside the point.

"Harry?" Hermione asked suddenly. "Don't you have an 'anger management' session with Professor Snape this afternoon?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Yes!" he yelped. "What time is it?"

"Ten til four."

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, jumping up. "I've got to go. Sna-"

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him.

"_Professor_ Snape will skin me alive if I'm late!" He took off at a dead run, needing to get all the way across the grounds and down into the dungeon in less than ten minutes. Gasping, he skid to a halt in front of Snape's office door, knocking before he'd even caught his breath.

"Enter!" Snape snapped.

Harry jumped, but opened the door, quickly slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. A quick glance at the clock on the wall read, 'thirty seconds to spare', and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"You're late!" Snape snarled, rounding his desk to stand directly in front of him.

Harry bristled. He was _not_ late! Even the professor's bloody clock agreed with him! He just wasn't early.

"Legilimens," the professor hissed.

And so it began, the occlumency lesson from hell, the worst one of the year. He seemingly couldn't do anything right, the professor growing angrier and angrier. Harry couldn't help but respond to that anger with rage of his own, especially when the older wizard started in on his father again, something he hadn't done since before Harry had brought him the books he and Hermione had found. Harry didn't understand it. Something had to have happened to set the professor off, but Harry couldn't figure out what it was. It didn't make any sense. He really didn't think he was doing any worse than he had been. In fact, he'd kept the professor out of his head for a full ten minutes this last time, but not even that seemed to satisfy the man. It actually seemed to make him angrier.

Finally, Harry'd had enough; more than enough, and he lost it.

"What the bloody hell do you want from me?" he screamed.

"Language, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape sneered, staring down at him as if he were less than a bug to be dissected, or perhaps scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

"Legilimens!"

This time, Harry couldn't form his quiet place, his sanctuary in the sky. This time, he saw red, gallons of it; lakes of roiling, molten magma. No sooner had the professor broken through his newly strengthening mind shields, than Harry sent a mental blast of it straight at the man's mental presence and the professor was suddenly gone.

Harry blinked in surprise at the classroom around him, the professor smirking at him from across the room. "What just happened?" he asked warily, knowing a smirk on that man's face was _never_ a good sign.

"You finally pushed me out of your mind, Potter," Snape replied smugly, "_without_ using magic."

Harry gaped in disbelief. _That_ was what this whole thing had been about? He wanted to rage at the arse, but was too numb to actually do so. Then it truly hit him what the professor had said, and the grin that stretched his mouth uncomfortably wide, robbed him of the opportunity. "Yes!" he exclaimed, jumping and pumping his hand in victory.

The professor just rolled his eyes at Harry's antics. "Don't let it go to your head, Potter," he said sourly. "You still need to learn to do it under other circumstances. The dark lord won't be so accomodating as to push all the right buttons."

_Accomodating!_ Harry thought incredulously, gaping at the professor.

"Yes, Potter, I said accomodating," the professor replied just as if he'd spoken aloud. "I trust you will have noticed that _this_ time that rather tetchy temper of yours didn't actually smash anything or any_one_ to splinters too tiny to find?"

Harry nodded, still rather numb. The professor had truly, actually helped him. The man had figured out the key that Harry needed to push him out and forced the circumstances that made it happen. It was . . . well, it was bloody unbelievable was what it was. Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it one bit.

"Thank you, Professor," he said finally.

Snape nodded once. "Go on, get out of here. Enjoy your dinner."

Harry spun around and sped out of the room, not quite believing it had been that easy. _Easy?_ he thought to himself in shock. He'd spent most of the session so angry he could barely see straight, and he was calling it _easy_!

He froze in the middle of the hallway, it hitting him all at once. He had been really, really angry; as angry as he had been the day he'd set fire to Mrs. Black's portrait, and not a single vial, nor piece of furniture - or the professor, his thoughts added vindictively - had been harmed in the slightest. His grin widened further, until his jaw and cheeks ached with it. He took off at a dead run. He had good news to share with his friends.

Not even the shocked, "Ten points from Gryffindor for running in the halls!" from Professor McGonagall could dim his mood - or slow him down.

The End - Episode Three of 'Going Grey'  
Kiristeen ke Alaya  
Feedback: is the ink with which I write! Please review.  
Pretty please with a naked character of your choice, willingly tied up and blindfolded for you! ::smirk::


End file.
